


and I lose your hand through the waves

by secretfeanorian



Series: made of starlight [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: Gen, and a collection of other briefly mentioned grey company members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rawlind's heart can't stop pounding and she can almost taste freedom...but guilt threatens to choke her as she runs and her freedom tastes almost like ashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I lose your hand through the waves

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh...yeah...oops? Set right before, during, and after your escape from Isengard. (also, hehe, see my reference in the summary?)

_Hey old man, rest your head, you’re breaking down inside. Armor’s cracked, set to collapse, damn you, don’t you cry.  
_

* * *

“Rawlind!” Rawlind jumps and looks over at Baldgar, her face twisted up.  
  
“Sorry,” She whispers back. “Lost in thought.”  
  
“Now is really not-” He starts to say, eyes jumping back and forth, scanning the area behind her.  
  
Before he can finish, Rawlind interjects with “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out as quietly as she can. “What were you saying?”  
  
Baldgar looks at her, but doesn’t say anymore on the matter; instead asking “You were able to plant the powder without incident?”  
  
For a moment, Rawlind considers telling him about her truly satisfying encounter with Thak on the surface, just as she’d considered telling Morflak, but as with the Uruk that currently pretended to control her, she decides against it. “I had a little trouble, but I think the Uruk involved is possibly even more eager than I to forget the encounter, so we shouldn’t have any trouble from there.”  
  
Baldgar raises an eyebrow, but only says, “There is no sense in delaying this, Rawlind. It is time that we are free of this place. Are you ready? We will only get one chance at this. We must make it count.”  
  
Rawlind swallows and again, her thoughts are pulled away from her situation and drawn towards Lothrandir’s. She hasn’t seen the ranger since they were brought here and subsequently split up. For all she knows, he could be dead; although she doubts it. Saruman is too cruel to let the man escape that easily.  
  
“Rawlind!” Baldgar hisses again, and she jumps. He is now looking at her with something akin to worry on his face. “If you are not…” He draws off and Rawlind sighs.  
  
“It is just when I pause for air that my thoughts stray. I should be fine once we start moving.”  
  
After a few moments, Baldgar sighs in turn. “Then here is what you need to do, Rawlind. The key-master tends to come down to the dungeons several times a day…or what passes for a day here in the lightless reaches.” The almost-joke falls flat, but Baldgar seems to have been expecting it to, and continues without pausing for breath. “Look for him somewhere in the dungeons and see if you can catch him unaware. He is likely to be down in the other wing of the dungeon. Climb the slope and turn right when you can.” Rawlind nods and her hand goes to the stolen blade hidden beneath her rags. Baldgar scans the area for Uruks before finishing. “Once you have the keys, come back here and release me! We can than open the door for Acca, and we will make our way to the surface.”  
  
“And how exactly do we plan on doing that unchallenged?” Rawlind asks, “I daresay I missed that rather important piece of information.”  
  
“The Uruk-hai must have seen you walking about Isengard. They may believe that you are bringing us to see Saruman, by order of the Wizard. They may let us pass.”  
  
“That’s a few too many maybes for me.” Rawlind mutters under her breath, but turns to carry out the Rohan man’s orders. As she makes her way through the dungeons, she keeps an eye out for Uruk-hai, but the area seems to be mostly deserted. “Is it always this empty?” She wonders, although not aloud. Her heart is pounding, and she holds her hands tightly by her sides for fear that they will start trembling violently.  
  
After what seems like hours, she reaches the turn in the slope and descends down the path. This wing of the dungeons is equally deserted and the prisoners in the cells watch her pass with no small amount of curiosity. At the end of the path, the key-master stands before one of the cells, sneering at the Dunlending within, and he turns at the sound of Rawlind’s approach. His eyes narrow suspiciously after they land on the lore-master. “What are you doing down here?” He demands, “Fâsh didn’t tell me you had any business down here today.” Rawlind doesn’t answer and the Uruk’s eyes narrow even further. “I don’t like the smell of you. Get out of here!”  
  
Rawlind’s hand drifts down to her right side and the Uruk’s eyes follow. Without him noticing, she pulls the blade from her other side and stabs him in the gut. He’s dead before he even realizes what is happening. Rawlind lowers the corpse to the ground and snatches the key ring from his belt, then bites her lip. But before she can do anything else, the Dunlending from the cell in front of her calls to her. “Hey! Friend! Over here!” She glances around, then moves closer to the cell door. “You have got the keys there, do you not?”  
  
Rawlind tiredly raises an eyebrow. She knows where the man is going and knows that, despite the hopelessness of getting a party as large as the one the captive Dunlendings encompass to the surface, she will release them anyway and try. “You must let us out! You cannot leave us to die here, friend! We can help you!” His voice is rising in pitch and Rawlind holds up a hand to silence him.  
  
“I will free you,” She hisses, “but you must keep quiet! Otherwise someone will come to investigate.” She hurriedly unlocks his cell door and moves rapidly through the wing, unlocking doors as she goes. Before she turns to lead the group back to Baldgar and Acca, she glances at the Uruk corpse on the ground, then dismisses it. Anyone who comes through will notice the empty cells first and there is no disguising the fact that they are empty.  
  
The walk back is even more stressful, but by some miracle of fate, the dungeons remain empty and Rawlind is able to release her partners in crime with no trouble. Baldgar’s face is displeased when he takes in the small crowd behind her. “This is not what I meant, Rawlind.” He mutters and she shrugs unapologetically. He sighs, then turns to address the group.  
  
“Listen to me, Men of Dunland,” He says in a hushed tone, “There is no friendship between our peoples. We have warred and will again. But today…today we need each other. Today, we have a common foe.” There are growls of agreement from the listening men and women, and Baldgar turns to Acca.  
  
Rawlind has already been watching the old man, and when he sees he has the attention of all present, he speaks up. “There is a gap in the wall between the buildings on the western side of the Ring. Once the black powder does its work, you should be able to make it there in the confusion.” He looks around at the circle of determined faces. “But first, we need to get to the surface. It will not be easy with so many of us. We cannot all go together. It would attract too much attention.”  
  
“Acca is right,” Baldgar breaks in, “Rawlind and he and I will go first. Count several score before following us, then do so in groups of two or three.” He looks around, then finishes with, “Good luck to us all.” A soft murmur passes over the group and once it’s left, it’s time for action. Rawlind swallows, suddenly unsure, but follows Baldgar and Acca silently when they begin to move out.  
  
Before exiting the dungeon wing, Baldgar stops his companions. “We do not want to attract attention. We should walk slowly from here, so as not to attract any.” Rawlind meets Acca’s eyes and then looks away. They both understand, but Rawlind begins to tremble. Seeing this, Baldgar’s brow furrows.  
  
“Adrenaline,” She hisses, a note of irritation in her voice, “I'll be fine, let's just move.”  
  
“Well then,” Baldgar clears his throat, and it is clear he is feeling a reservation or two. “Let us go!” Rawlind’s heart is pounding rapidly as she leads the two men through the large, open room. There are enemies everywhere and only now does she notice just how many of them there are. Her hands are twitching and she has to fight not to clench them. Several of the Uruk-hai turn to look at them suspiciously, but upon seeing her, most grunt and look away. Those few that don’t follow their progress across the room toward the surface, but don’t move to stop them.  
  
Rawlind breathes a sigh of relief when they step into the muted sunlight. The entrance to the lower levels of Isengard seems as deserted as the dungeons below and a flicker of unease enters her mind. “This is too easy,” She thinks, but doesn’t give voice to her doubts.  
  
“We are almost out. Now we just need to light the black powder Rawlind set up ahead of time and we will have all the chaos we need to make it to the other side of the Ring…and freedom!” Rawlind hums in agreement and looks around nervously. “We just need a bit of flame and we can set off the powder,” Baldgar finishes and Rawlind bites her lip. Whoever goes to light it will undoubtably not be able to make it back without being spotted – and followed, leading the enraged Uruks straight towards the escape route. It’s a death sentence, and they all know it.  
  
“Let me do it,” Acca breaks the silence, “Both of you have homes beyond the Ring, but this is my home. There is nowhere I want to go.”  
  
“You are sure?” Baldgar asks and is ignored.  
  
“I am ready for what comes, Rawlind,” Acca says in response to Rawlind’s expression, “I will set the black powder aflame, and it will draw all of Isengard to this side of the Ring. When that happens, the western side should be empty and you will be able to slip through the gap in the Ring-wall.” This was always the plan, they’ve gone over it several times, but now that they are putting it into action, Rawlind feels her unease mounting. Something’s wrong, or soon will be, she’s almost sure of it. She grips the hilt of her stolen sword and not for the first time, wishes for her staff. Or any staff at all. “Farewell,” Acca whispers, “May you live past tonight and help put an end to my master’s evil.”  
  
“Oh I plan to,” Is Rawlind’s immediate response, “Even if I have to do it entirely alone.”  
  
“You won’t!”  
  
“I know Baldgar,” She sighs, the hate draining out of her as quickly as it had entered.  
  
“Wait for my signal! And farewell!” Rawlind watches the old man run off for a moment before Baldgar beckons her toward a thick bunch of dead bushes.  
  
“This way, Rawlind!” She follows and crouches beside him in the dirt. “Once we get out of here, I need to find Théodred, the prince of Rohan. All his attention was focused on the movements of the Dunlending clans. We had no idea things were this bad in Isengard.” Rawlind grunts in acknowledgement, scanning the sky for Acca’s signal. Her unease has not stopping growing since they stepped into daylight. “Where will you go?” Baldgar asks and she sighs.  
  
“Probably with you. I cannot hope to take on the entire Falcon-clan alone.” Seeing Baldgar’s confusion, she elaborates, “I was traveling south with a company of men, and we got word that there was a Dunlending clan close to Isengard holding out against Saruman’s lies. Our leader ruled that an alliance would be beneficial in avoiding detection while passing by Isengard. Stealth was our primary goal. An alliance was formed, but it wasn’t long before the brenin of the clan turned traitor and went over to Saruman. I don’t know how many of my friends were killed or if any even escaped.” She pauses to suck in a deep breath, fighting back tears. She hadn’t thought of those back at the Falcons’ village, consumed as her thoughts were by Lothrandir and by escape plans. “Myself and another of our party; Lothrandir; were chained and sent to Isengard as gifts to Saruman, and I have not seen him since we arrived. I have to wonder if he is even still alive…”  
  
There is a pause while Baldgar considers her words, then he says, “You have my word, I will help you save your friends from the Falcon-clan, once I have given my message to Théodred. I am sorry we can do nothing for the ranger that was sent here with you, Lothrandir, you said he was called.”  
  
Rawlind’s mouth twitches into a tight line. “You’re not half as sorry as I am.”  
  
Baldgar glances at her and Rawlind can tell he is beginning to understand the distraction that has plagued her ever since they met several days ago. “If Lothrandir lives still, Saruman has kept him very close,” He finally says, “We cannot hope to gain entrance to Orthanc.”  
  
“I know that!” Rawlind snaps, but instead of responding to her anger, he looks around nervously.  
  
“What is taking Acca so long?” Silence. Baldgar jumps to his feet. “I think something has happened!” Rawlind takes off toward where she’d dropped the black powder earlier and Baldgar follows close behind. When they reach the spot, Rawlind stops cold because Acca is lying motionless on the ground and Morflak is standing over him, holding a bloodied weapon. “Oh no!” Baldgar whispers from behind her.  
  
“There’s been a commotion below, Rawlind.” Morflak says casually, “Some of the captives got loose.” He watches her bite her lip, then continues. “All of my boys ran to see what was going on, but I smelled a rat.”  
  
Despite herself, Rawlind feels a wave of sadness rush over her at hearing the inevitable fates of the other prisoners. Dunlendings they may have been, but the mere fact that they were locked away in Saruman’s dungeons erased any resentment in her heart, and besides, they were hardly to blame for the treachery of Lheu Brenin.  
  
“And who should I see sneaking around the war machine?” Morflak continues and Rawlind shakes herself back to reality, “This old fool!” The Uruk finishes and Rawlind feels Baldgar tense behind her.  
  
“Keep him busy!” He whispers before bolting in the opposite direction. Morflak watches him go and Rawlind draws her “borrowed” sword.  
  
“You would be nothing without me, Rawlind!”  
  
“Hardly true,” She retorts, “I would be dead if not for you, and for that I thank you greatly, but I certainly wouldn’t be _nothing_.”  
  
Morflak continues as if he hadn’t heard her. “I gave you the run of Isengard. It was the fear of me that kept you from being thrown in the cells alongside those vermin. But now we will see. Oh yes, we will see whose time it is to die. See how I repay treachery!”  
  
“By having a chained thrall beat me up?” She taunts, and with a roar of rage, Morflak charges her.  
  
“Die, worm!”  
  
They cross blades and Rawlind’s arms tremble. Even well-fed and well-rested, Morflak would still have far more shear brute strength than the slender lore-master and she is outmatched on many fronts in this fight. “Keep him busy, keep him busy, keep him busy,” She silently chants, dodging another swing. Again, she wishes for a staff. A few minute pass in this fashion, but then Morflak knocks her to her knees. Panting, she looks up, but Morflak hesitates from the killing blow for some reason. Her vision is blurring and Rawlind can feel she is about to pass out.  
  
Suddenly, there is a loud noise and she can see flames from the corner of her eye. Dimly, she sees Morflak turn away, and dimly she hears him ask “What…what is that noise?” and then her eyes roll back into her head and she knows no more.

* * *

Rawlind groans. Her head hurts and the ground is bumpy beneath her. Abruptly remembering, she shoots to her feet and spins around widely. She groans again and nearly faints once more, but manages to hold onto consciousness, if not her footing.  
  
Baldgar is lying on the ground next to her and it instantly becomes clear that he is near death. When he sees he has her attention, he smiles weakly. “I carried you…this far…but this is…the end…for Baldgar, son of Beldgar.” Rawlind swallows, and tears begin to well up in her eyes. “Nay…do not weep for me…my friend…it is enough to be…free…” He doesn’t move again.  
  
Despite his request, Rawlind weeps. The sobs rise up and pour out. She weeps for all that has gone wrong in the past month. She weeps for Candaith, lying still on the Forsaken Road; for Lothrandir, still trapped somewhere within Isengard; and for all the other rangers that have died; for the uncertain fates of every ranger within the Grey Company, for the sting of betrayal that still pains her; for Acca and for Baldgar, for the Dunlending prisoners whose names she did not even know and for Mai.  
  
Rawlind doesn’t know how much time passes before she comes back to herself, but she does the sun is rising and Baldgar is cold. She takes a deep breath and looks around. From what she can tell, Baldgar brought them to the Gravenwood and the Rohirrim scout camp she remembers visiting isn’t far. She climbs to her feet, grabbing at a tall rock nearby for support. Belatedly, she notices that her blade is missing and wonders. She doesn’t recall dropping it.  
  
Shrugging, Rawlind abandons the train of thought out of sheer indifference and begins stumbling forward. An undetermined amount of time passes (although, the sun is now higher in the sky, and she guesses it is close to mid-day) before she sees any sign of people and it comes in the form of a thin line of smoke rising above the trees. Rawlind knows there’s a very real possibility that the fire belongs to orcs or hostile Dunlendings, but she’s exhausted enough that she can't find it in herself to care.  
  
She suddenly hears voices and two Rohirrim scouts approach her from out of the undergrowth. Covered in dirt and clothed in rags as she is, it takes them several moments to recognize her, but when they do, they both immediately move to support her. She’s too worn out to hold onto her pride and allows them to half-carry her back to their camp.  
  
As they approach it, Rawlind can see the forms of several rangers, although she can see none of their faces. Prince Théodred is the first to notice her and his eyes widen when he does. “Rawlind!” The rangers all start almost in sync and all turn to look at her. The only especially familiar face she sees is Saerdan’s and while she is glad to see him, her heart sinks when she can’t find Radanir, Halros, or Daervunn among them.  
  
Théodred starts to speak, but she cuts him off. “…Baldgar…” Her voice is weak and it breaks on the name, But Théodred reacts.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“Dead.” His face falls and Rawlind’s heart sinks even further. “…We escaped Isengard…together, but he was…killed…left him…” She pauses, unsure of the direction she’d come from. “Couldn’t…carry him.” She finishes weakly and Théodred gently pushes her to sit in front of the fire. Saerdan watches her worriedly (she thinks), but doesn’t interrupt.  
  
It is silent for a few minute. “It is good to see you still live, friend.” Théodred finally says and Rawlind looks up from the rations that someone had handed her, pulling the cloak – a ranger’s – she’d only just realized was there tighter around her shoulders; still unable to escape the chill that seems to have seeped into her bones. “We feared the worst. Few of your friends make it out of Tâl Methedras and the tales of those who did are not encouraging.” He gestures around the small camp to encompass ‘the few’ and Rawlind’s eyes follow. Théodred sighs. “I do not think the Falcon-clan was with Saruman from the beginning; rather, it seems the tide turned while you were traveling through Dunland. The news you brought Lheu Brenin, that Saruman’s influence could be felt everywhere, may have been the information for which he was waiting.”  
  
Rawlind sighs and kicks at the logs sitting on the fire, her expression exhausted but also irritated. “A pox on these Dunlendings!” Théodred spits, though quietly. “They cannot be trusted!” Rawlind sends a dirty glance at him and then catches herself and looks away. The expression on her face, however, does not change again. Théodred looks at her thoughtfully before continuing. “Very few folks made it out of Tâl Methedras, as I said, but some did: the rare few Dunlendings who spoke against the brenin’s decision, and a handful of rangers. If we work together, we can repay Lheu Brenin for his treachery.”  
  
Upon hearing the last sentence, Rawlind looks up and moves to get up, but Saerdan appears at her side and gently pushes her down. “You are of no use to anyone half-starved and half-dead on your feet, Rawlind.” He reprimands. “And we are hardly ready to move against Lheu Brenin yet. There is time for you to rest.”  
  
“No, I can’t, I have to…” She draws off.  
  
“Have to what, Rawlind?” Théodred moves to speak with one of his men, leaving the two friends alone.  
  
“Lothrandir…he’s still…I had to…” She breaks off several times and tears fill her eyes again.  
  
Saerdan’s face darkens and for a brief moment, she shies away from him, thinking him angry with her for leaving his kinsman behind. “What has happened to Lothrandir is not your fault, Rawlind,” He says sternly, but his hand on her shoulder is gentle.  
  
“I do not wish to sleep,” She gasps and he sits down next to her.  
  
“If you are willing, then I would hear of your time in Isengard. It cannot have been pleasant and you were often in my thoughts.” Rawlind bites her lip and does not answer. Sensing he has made her uncomfortable, the older man changes the subject. “I heard what happened within Tâl Methedras from Radanir.”  
  
This garners a response. “He is alive?!” Hope fills her tone and Saerdan regrets that he must dampen it.  
  
Without responding, he continues. “Some time after you were secreted away to Isengard, he managed to escape the prison cave with poor Braigiar.” The way he says Braigiar’s name brings dread to Rawlind’s heart and without needing to be told, she knows the man is dead. “The two of them fought their way into the center of Tûr Morva, but then…” Saerdan sighs heavily, and he seems in that moment much older than his years. “Braigiar did not make it. They cut him down in the road, and only Radanir escaped. He has gone back with some of Théodred’s men to try and recover Braigiar’s body, but they have not returned.”  
  
Rawlind nods at this and her eyes feel suddenly heavy. For some reason, she had not expected news such as this to make her feel so much more drained. Saerdan picks up a stick off of the ground and pokes the fire with it pensively. “Many of our friends have fallen, and the rest are still captives of Lheu Brenin. According to Radanir, Halbarad and the sons of Elrond are still alive, but who can say for how long?”  
  
Rawlind doesn’t answer. In spite of her rage and in spite of her grief, she finds herself growing increasingly sleepier. She leans against Saerdan and he starts, but soon wraps an arm around her. She yawns, staring into the flames and soon drifts into an exhausted, and blessedly dreamless slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Among the rangers within the Grey Company, the ones Rawlind is/was closest to are as follows: Saerdan, Lothrandir, Candaith, Radanir, Halros, and Daervunn. Saerdan is a semi father figure, Lothrandir is - for all intents and purposes - the love interest, although he and Rawlind are also close friends and share a deep love for Forochel. Candaith was like a brother to her and they often seek to out do each other with increasingly outlandish stories. Radanir and her are like those people you know who are always telling terrible jokes and every time they're anywhere near each other, they drives everyone around them nuts. Halros and her are close friends; as are her and Daervunn.
> 
> I suppose you could say I started with the closest and went through to the least close of the closest. 
> 
> Also, when I write the piece for Troubled Dreams, I'm going to cry. Just you watch. I will.
> 
> Update: I did.


End file.
